LUCIANA

The distaste I feel must be evident on my face, because he frowns in irritation. “I am just trying to help, Luciana!”

“I don’t need it.” I’m on the verge of losing the battle against my anger. What makes him think he has the right to strut into this building like he owns it, order my staff around, and tell me what to do?

My family’s company may be teetering on the edge of bankruptcy, but that doesn’t justify any of his actions. Maybe I would be more willing to accept a lending hand if the man offering it wasn’t the same one I found rolling in bed with a real estate agent in the very house we were supposed to move into.

I would rather make a deal with the devil.

He’s looking at me like I’m the unreasonable one, as though I should be overjoyed to get help from him. He sighs in frustration and says, “Look, Luciana. I know what I did was wrong, and I have apologized for it a thousand times.”

I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.

“Are you going to let your parents’ hard work go to waste just because you don’t want to speak to me?”

What I don’t want is to stare at the man who betrayed everything we had and called it a ‘one-time mistake’, but whatever floats his boat. I cross my arms. “We will get clients soon enough.”

The chortle that leaves his mouth must have been unintentional. He covers his mouth awkwardly but can’t take it back, so he clears his throat. “What clients? Everyone is checking out listings online these days. It would be best if you sold what is left of VRE and—”

Sofia interrupts by opening the door, thankfully. She pokes her head in. “Luciana, there’s a Mr. Morata here to see you. I can’t find his name on the booking list, but he swears he made an appointment online with you.”

I shoot a look at my perplexed ex. “You were saying?”

He huffs, swiping imaginary lint off the shoulder of his cashmere sweater. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

I bite my tongue to stop myself from responding to his jinx.

“Yeah, sure.” I roll my eyes. Why did I ever think I’d struck the jackpot with him? I must have messed with a higher power in my previous incarnation to receive this kind of retribution. “I hope you remember your way out. I have an important client to tend to.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but the look I shoot him shuts him up.

‘Don’t let the door hit your ass on your way out.’

I return to my emails—my inbox may be empty, but I would rather answer non-existent messages than listen to Vicente.

When the door opens again, I’m on the verge of groaning when I look up and realize Vicente is not back as I feared. An Adonis is standing before me, looking dashing in a crisp, black three-piece suit. He stands there wordlessly for a while, making me wonder if he mistook my office for a modelling agency—he certainly looks like a model, even if he is dressed like one of those imposing lawyers I’ve had to deal with lately.

The thought of yet another lawyer makes me want to curse. What is it this time?

I don’t have it in me to be friendly. “May I help you, sir?”

“I need a house as soon as possible,” he says.

I’m about to tell him to hand over whatever legal documents he has when my brain registers what he just said. A what?

Sofia did say someone booked an appointment with me. Unless my sanity is farther gone than I thought, we haven’t had anyone ask about us, leave alone book an appointment.

I try my luck nonetheless. “Mr. Morata?”

“That seems to surprise you.” He cracks a smile.

He should do that often.

On second thought, he shouldn’t. I’m already having enough lapses in my brain’s functionality without factoring in the sight of man who looks like a walking aphrodisiac.

His brown hair is neatly combed back, save for a few strands that hang over his face right beneath his brows. They must have defied whatever overpriced pomade he used, but they add charm to his already heaven-defying looks.

I find myself lost in his looks for a tad longer than is professionally acceptable before I remember my manners and stand. I circle my desk and offer my hand in greeting.

“There was a slight mix-up. I’m sorry.”

He casts those ocean-blue eyes at me, making me shiver slightly, although I’m sure it’s quite warm in the office. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Miss…?”

“Luciana Vargas,” I supplement.

He shakes my hand, and I have to pretend not to notice how his hand covers mine. He is much taller than me, so I look up to meet his eyes. Our gazes lock for a few heartbeats, my hand still in his. He doesn’t look like he has any intention of letting go anytime soon.

Not that I’m complaining, but we have to get started on finding that house if there’s any chance to get the job done today.

He lets go of my hand just as I’m about to retract it, so I offer the visitors’ seat opposite my chair. “Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Morata.”

He still looks imposing when he sits, and I’m beginning to question how my brain will function while looking at that handsome face.

“Thank you, Miss Vargas.”

There’s something odd about the way he says my name, but I don’t have time to dwell on it.

I take out a writing pad and click my pen as I ask, “Tell me about yourself.”

I wait a few moments for him to speak and look up when I don’t hear a response, only to find him staring at me with that charming smile.

“Why do you need to get to know me? Your job is to find me a house.”

“This is how I do my job. I have to know details that will help me pair you with the perfect house.”

He pushes his chair back and stands, making me wonder what I did to shoo this one off so fast. All I did was ask one question.

Seeing my confusion, he explains as he heads to the left side of my office, my mini-resting lounge, sparsely furnished with a couch and coffee table. “The chair is too stiff, and you did tell me to make myself comfortable.” He slouches on the couch and kicks his legs up on the armrest, crossing them at his ankles.

‘Get your legs off—’ I don’t finish my thought. Clients can have their quirks sometimes, and this man could be the key to saving Vargas Real Estate. Besides, those perfectly polished shoes probably cost twice as much as the couch.

Once he is as comfortable as he prefers, he flashes me a goofy grin. “You were saying something, Miss Vargas.”

I’m lost for words. I may not be a fortune teller, but I know this is going to be an intense roller coaster.

LUCIANA

Knight in shining armor?

I take back everything I said about this man being the key to saving VRE. It's more accurate to describe him as a psychopath who thrives on other people's distress. Though, between making the wrong decisions for the company and falling in love with a jerk, is it astounding that my knight in not-so-shining armor turned out to be a migraine in disguise?

Why did I change my mind so fast, you may ask?

I've spent the better part of the last two hours showing him pictures of properties; not only does he keep rejecting all my suggestions with the strangest excuses, but he also doesn't want to tell me what he wants in a house either.

Not even the last few months could have prepared me for this.

“What do you mean the flowers aren't green enough? It's a garden, sir. You can plant whatever you want.” I'm on the verge of losing my patience.

His response isn't any less annoying than the previous ones. “And I don't want to have to plant anything.”

“You will not. Your garden will be primed according to your tastes before the purchase is complete,” I coax, only to receive a sly grin.

“Miss Vargas, I'm beginning to question your professionalism.”

I can't believe the nerve of this man. I take pride in my work ethic, and I will not let some infuriating silver spoon accuse me of being unprofessional, not even if he looks like a million bucks and an underwear ad model all at the same time. Six months ago, I would have told him to shove his offer where the sun don't shine.

But we need him. Quite honestly, I’m still surprised he chose VRE amid the pile of glamorous real estate companies. Luck doesn't shine on the same place twice—at least not on VRE.

I know that if I seal this great sale, it will revive us, and I will no longer have to deal with lawyers canceling contracts left and right, and my dad can finally have a good night's sleep.

The arrogant asshole on my couch probably thinks he has the world wrapped around his pinky finger just because he has the looks that make just about any woman willing to bend a knee for a mere word with him.

Admittedly, I was momentarily lost in his looks when he walked into my office about two hours ago.

Everything, including his height, is every girl's dream. The proverbial tall, handsome, with a charming smile to boot; all of which vanish out the window in a puff as soon as he opens his mouth to speak.

Right now, he's merely the hell-sent asshole here to ruin my day.

When I look over at the couch, I find him fanning himself with one of the property magazines I gave him for reference. All he's done so far is scan the cover page for a second before casting them aside, making me wonder what magical mansion he wants and which fictional planet one can find it on.

This sounds like a trap, setting me up for failure before he gets his legion of friends and servants to one-star the hell out of VRE.

Fat chance. Between placating this bizarre client and taking Vicente’s deal, I’m not choosing the devil I know.

I will close this deal if it’s the last thing I do.

“Any more magazines for me?” He asks as though he were a petulant child demanding candy.

Would anyone notice if I went over to the couch and strangled the living daylights out of him?

“Miss Vargas, you seem to find me troublesome,” he drawls, shifting his position, so he’s finally sitting on the couch like a normal person.

No shit, Sherlock!

On the outside, I offer my sweetest smile—at least I hope I don’t look like a mad ghost on the verge of haunting his dreams. “Of course not, Mr. Morata. I’m only trying to figure out your perfect house.”

“Do your best, Miss Vargas. I will be waiting.” He resumes his previous position and starts whistling a tune. My ears threaten to bleed; I don’t know if that’s from the horrendous whistling coming from my new client or the exaggerated, sugary way he says my name.

Two minutes later, his attention is back on me. “Found it yet, Luciana?”

The way he drawls my name sounds like something out of a wet dream.

“Miss Vargas,” I correct him. It’s already bad enough that he’s making me start to hate my surname.

“But I like Luciana now,” he pouts.

Surely we're not here to discuss which name sounds better on his lips.

“You are in luck, Mr. Morata. Your future paradise awaits.” I click on a thumbnail to enlarge it. I am quite confident in my choice; humongous, extravagant, fitting for an arrogant asshole like him. However, I know what his answer will be, so I print out a questionnaire instead.

“Fill this in,” I place the sheet of paper on the visitor’s side of my desk and put a pen on it.

The man barely moves, merely blinking at me in confusion.

I forgot I was serving His Highness, Crown Prince of Psychoville. I take a deep breath and reluctantly deliver the questionnaire to the coffee table.

He glances down at the sheet of paper and raises a brow. “Why do I have to fill in a questionnaire? Do I remind you of a kindergartener?”

Actually, you do, I think, but I bite my tongue and give a more civil response. “I need to know your exact tastes.”

“My exact tastes…” he drawls in a way that makes me question if we’re on the same topic of discussion. “What's in it for me ?”

“The house of your dreams,” I state the obvious.

He hums, almost as if he’s considering it, but his answer makes me want to groan. “Not good enough.”

Who did I piss off in my past life?

“What else do you want, sir?” I try my luck.

“I only answer questionnaires over coffee. So have it with me, Luciana, and I will fill in everything you want me to fill.”

My skin burns up from the way he’s looking at me, but I shake my head to clear my mind.

You are not getting anywhere with those seductive eyes, sir. “No can do.”

“Well then.” He smiles and picks up the questionnaire, ripping it in half.

He might as well have ripped my brain into shreds while at it because I’m one second away from grabbing a broom and shooing him out.

“I have to say, Luciana,” he drawls, “I may not like your way of doing business, but I appreciate the view.”

It’s a relief when the telephone on my desk rings. I know it’s from Sofia.

“There’s a delivery that needs your immediate attention,” she reports.

“I’ll be right there,” I say and end the call.

There is no delivery—it’s a code Sofia created to give me breaks if I need them. I’m often dealing with perpetual assholes, and she’s such a lifesaver. Needless to say, I need to be away from this one for an entire year if possible.

I shut my devices down in case he thinks of trying something he shouldn’t, then I point to the discreet surveillance camera in the corner of the roof. “I’ll be right back.”

I let out a huge sigh when I’m at Sofia’s desk.

“Is Mr. Hottie Pants too much to handle?” She winks.

She has no idea.

“I need a break. Keep him company while I’m out, will you? Maybe get him a cup of coffee. Don’t forget to add enough sugar to send him into a coma—or rat poison, I’m not picky.”

“Okay?”

I leave before Sofia can ask any questions.

I’ve just managed to catch a waft of fresh air when I notice a familiar frame at the end of the hallway.

No way that idiot is still here.

When I walk over to check, I find Vicente flirting with the pretty girl from IT. Emma is her name, if I remember correctly.

At least it looks like they’re flirting until I hear her hissing, “I told you I have work to do!”

I see red. “She asked you to leave.”

I cross my arms. When Vicente turns to face me, I have the strongest urge to slap the teeth out of his mouth. It’s already bad enough to pester me relentlessly. What gives him the right to make my employees uncomfortable?

“You may leave, Emma,” I tell the pretty girl, who looks at me like I’m her savior before scurrying away.

“What the hell?” I frown at my ex.

“Someone’s still got her claws out,” he imitates a scratching motion, and I do want to claw his eyes out.

“I told you to leave.” I point to the elevators.

“I stayed around in case things didn’t go well with the new client and you needed me. Looks like I made the right call.”

“Leave before I call security,” I threaten.

He raises his hands as he grins… “Remember, you know where to find me.”

In your damn dreams.

If I was on the verge of giving up, meeting Vicente has fueled my resolve. I make a quick trip to the bathroom and splash water on my face, leaving me so invigorated that I can fight a bear, leave alone wrangle an infuriating silver-spoon.

When I return to my office, however, I feel like I’ve walked into an alternate universe.

Sofia and the new client are engrossed in conversation. Sofia is laughing her butt off as the man tells an elaborate story about his trip to Vietnam.

So, I’m the only one he’s an asshole to.

“You’re back,” he smiles as soon as he notices me.

“You’re hilarious, Mr. Morata.” Sofia wipes a tear of laughter from her eye as she stands. “I’ll be on my way.”

My secretary winks at me on her way out. I don’t think I want to know what that’s about, so I sit at my desk.

The gloom has returned to my office, the previously joyous man now sitting with his arms folded. I print several questionnaires and deliver them before him. “Don’t waste your time ripping them. I could print a thousand.”

“Then you will have an entire confetti to clean up, Miss Vargas,” he says with a dimpled smile. “Are we having this dance again? I already gave you a solution—go out for coffee with me.”

LUCIANA

I lean over the table to take back my questionnaires, and he moves so we're face to face. His breath is close to me, and I can feel it. He's looking into my eyes as though he can see through them right into my soul.

In those few seconds, with our eyes locked, I feel like I’ve run a marathon. My heart is beating at a dizzying speed, nearly making me think I’m having a heart attack.

I clear my throat. “You speak of professionalism, yet you invade my personal space within the same hour. How noble of you, Mr. Morata.”

His resulting chuckle feels like a rumble through my bones. “You are the one in my personal space, Luciana. Make no mistake, though, I’m not complaining.”

I will myself to straighten up, and it feels like I have returned to the normal world after being stuck in whatever universe that was. Why am I behaving like he's the first man on earth I am encountering?

Besides, he's an asshole. That alone should be enough reason to stay as far from him as physically possible.

As I walk back to my desk, I feel his eyes glued to my backside. I should be offended, but somehow, I’m not. I may have slowed down for a few seconds, too, which makes me scold myself as soon as my brain is back to its normal functionality.

“I guess we're having that coffee after all,” he says.

I bite back a retort. What choice do I have? I’m the one with everything to lose. If I blow up this deal, I don’t know how long it would take before another valuable client magically appears. I swear this one magically appeared, and I don’t give a fuck which cauldron he came from, but he’s my ticket, no matter how frustrating he is.

A few minutes later, I have resigned to my fate. No matter how much I fight it, the only way to get him to sign the deal is to have coffee with him.

To be fair, I may not have said no to him if we met under different circumstances and he asked me out. I just hate being trapped. “I think this meeting is over,” I say.

“But I don't want to leave,” he makes himself more comfortable by crossing his legs and grabbing a magazine to read.

Is this man's sole purpose to torment me?

“Is there anything else you want to discuss with me?'' I frown, hoping he isn't going to give me another bullshit answer.

“Not that I can think of,” he answers.

I raise my brows in question.

Then what do you want?

“I just feel comfortable on this couch. Besides, it was a two-hour meeting and…” he raises his hand to glance at his red-faced, diamond watch that has to be one of those fancy Rolexes with ridiculous price tags. “I still have thirty minutes.”

If we have nothing to discuss, am I going to have to look after him while he does annoying things? No one said anything about me being a babysitter.

“Mr Morata...” I start, only to get interrupted by him.

He raises his head, his expression playful. “The sound of my name on your lips is quite sexy.”

I let out an angry breath for the umpteenth time.

This man is going to be the end of me. If this is some kind of punishment for something, then I'd rather die.

Luckily, he changes the topic immediately. “I'm the biggest, newest client in town. Companies are competing for me. You see? I’m a hot commodity in demand. Actually, everyone wants me, but I chose you.”

My mind is still stuck on hot commodity. I bite my lower lip, giving him another round of scrutiny. Indeed, a hot commodity.

I shift on my seat when I catch myself in the act.

That was so unprofessional, Luciana. I scold myself.

“You already said that,” I answer him.

“Good,” he says, finding a comfortable position on the couch. He must think my office is his personal lounge. He looks so cozy that I picture a big bucket of popcorn and he will be ready to watch a movie.

In comparison, I’m fidgeting in my chair because life has yet to bestow me with the same amount of luck. Part of my duties is being interfered with by him.

Half an hour later, I'm still trying to get a crazy panda out of my office. Why am I even using this analogy? They may be the goofiest animals, but I love them. I've always wanted to hug a panda, actually. They look so fluffy and comfortable to cuddle with.

I've been unknowingly staring at the man on the couch when our eyes meet.

I quickly look away.

Nope, I will never hug this particular panda.

I've endured thirty more minutes of torture with my new client.

When he leaves, I almost expect him to pop back in just to mess with me.

__________

“Luciana, I’m about to go home. Are you staying?”

Sofia's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. I didn't realize it was already so late.

I nod listlessly. “I still have a few things to take care of. Can you get me some Advil before you leave?”

She gives me the kind of look that reminds me of my mother. “If you are unwell, you should go home and rest.”

I laugh. “It’s just a headache, Sofia. I will be fine.”

She begrudgingly brings the medicine, grumbling something about her life ending prematurely because her boss won't take care of herself. I ignore her rant and return to work.

Soon after she leaves, my phone rings. As soon as I see “Claudia” on the caller name, I know Sofia told my best friend something.

“I’m outside VRE. Get your ass down here or I will call 911 and report a fire,” she threatens and ends the call.

I shake my head. My best friend is a little crazy, but I know she would take a bullet for me. I pack up and leave the office since I do need the distraction after the kind of day I’ve had. Besides, I know when Claudia is serious about doing something insane to get her way.

She’s parked in front of the building, leaning against her car.

“So, who am I killing today?” She asks.

One would think I’m in a group of assassins, but it's just Claudia being overly concerned and protective, as usual.

“What makes you think I have a client for you today?” I ask jokingly as we enter her car.

“Oh, come on, I didn't know you yesterday. You look like you barely managed to escape from hell with your life intact. Who pissed you off?'' She doesn't start the car, waiting for me to respond.

Though, to be fair, she's the only one I can complain to. “I had the worst client in the world,” I grit my teeth. Just thinking about it annoys me to the core.

“What's his name, and did you get his address?”

It’s almost amusing that her brain always jumps to the same place. “Don't even think about it. He's a tycoon.”

“Wouldn't be my first rodeo with those,” she shrugs.

Of course, I know she's joking.

“You know we can't afford to lose clients now, especially not to your blade.” I play along with her joke as she pulls the car out of the parking lot.

“And what does Vicente have to say about that?” She asks, peeking at me briefly.

Don't say it. I try to convince myself.

She catches my expression and drawls, “Luciana…”

“Vicente offered me a way out,” I tell her, knowing this conversation will never end otherwise.

“What did he want?” She asks nonchalantly, but her knuckles are nearly white from the force she's using to grip the steering wheel.

“Easy, girl.” I try to calm her down.

"There's nothing easy about Vicente Hidalgo."

Okay, she's not calming down anytime soon.

“He was offering a way out. And honestly, it's a good plan.”

She shoots me yet another “Mom” look. “Luciana Vargas!”

“It's a deal that could revive the company. The new client isn't any better anyway. He could walk out any minute, and the hours of stress will be for naught.”

Especially since he knows he’s a hot commodity in demand. My brain lapses for a few seconds as I recall how devastatingly hot he looked.

“So you're considering Vicente's deal?” she asks, her eyes turning menacing.

“Of course not, silly, I'm going to do the best I can with my new client.”

She turns to flash me a light-bulb smile. “I know just what you need.”

A night of clubbing—she doesn't need to say it out loud.

____________

It's only seven in the evening by the time we get to Delta. While that may be early for other clubs, there's no such thing as too early to party at Delta.

The music is already booming, people dancing and grinding against each other under the multicolored lights. It’s the perfect place to distract me from the kind of day I’ve just had.

Claudia is already on her fourth shot of tequila by the time I’ve had my second. I want to snatch that one from her, but she's no lightweight.

I don't have to worry about dragging her drunk ass out of here.

“Let me get this straight. You're going out with someone tomorrow,” she says after slamming the glass on the table.

Yeah, that's what I just told her.

Except, this is not the reaction I was expecting from her.

Apparently, my best friend has long forgotten about the part where I've just narrated how Dario Morata has been an asshole in an entire meeting.

Now she's more interested in the part where I agreed to go out with him.

"What happened to you wanting to kill the asshole?” I ask.

“Well, taking you out happened. At least you'll remember what it feels like to be with a man,” she says.

I groan. Not again.

“Are you even my friend?”

“Come on, when was the last time those lips were invaded?”

“I'm not going to kiss him!” I exclaim since it seems she's not getting the point.

She orders another round of shots and wiggles her brows at me. “Those aren't the lips I was talking about, but that too.”

My jaw drops, and she points at my open mouth.

“You haven't done that in a while either.”

Before I can answer that, a waiter approaches our table with cocktails in two inverted-cone glasses; the perfect combination of blue, pink, and purple drinks that somehow didn't mix, topped with lemon slices on the edges.

“We didn't order those,” I tell him.

“I know, ma'am,” he answers politely. “They are from him.” He points to his left, and my eyes follow in the direction of a man waving at me.

Is that…Dario Morata?